


One Who Stalks Below

by peachycans



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Religious, Alternate Universe - Vampire, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Trauma, Vampire!Priest!Eddie, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-01-10 22:31:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12309195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachycans/pseuds/peachycans
Summary: You may cry out into darkness, but you cannot choose the one to answer.





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by [ Vampire!Priest!Eddie](http://wiresonde.tumblr.com/post/162344644792/im-out-of-my-head-of-my-heart-and-my-mind-cause/) by wiresonde on tumblr. I also recommend giving the song they linked a listen, [“The Wolf” by SIAMÉS.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lX44CAz-JhU/)

“Upon your profession of faith and in accordance with the Lord's command, I baptize you, Ethan Lee,”

_‘The child’s scent is strong.’_

“In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit,”

_‘Do not kill him.’_

“Buried in the likeness of His death, and raised in the likeness of His resurrection.”

_‘You do not kill children.’_

As soon as the child was passed back into the loving arms of his parents, the ceremony was complete. A child, reborn again to live in purity. To remain cleansed until he shows his true colors—the true nature of his kind. Of his primitive species.

 _Until._ Nobody stays pure in their pathetic little town.

Thirty miles away from any major settlement with a population of exactly two-hundred thirty-eight people, Leadville was home to a community of filth. No one ever left; they only lived, birthed, and died. Or… disappeared.

Eddie knew his greatness could be better used elsewhere, but like the rest, he was latched onto the soil of his town like a parasite. In a way, the townspeople were the hard-working cells that kept their host alive, and Eddie was the virus plaguing them, killing them off one by one.

He’d learned throughout the years that the further he traveled, the worse his state of mind became. It was common for his kind to want to travel, to want to hunt over a wide expanse of land and not just one place. Eddie didn’t like being on the run; it meant he would find more of his kind along the way, and he’d grown tired of how easy it was to put them down, and how little it would achieve in the end. 

Typically they would travel in duos; Eddie had chalked it up to the simple fact that they were too weak to survive on their own, needing the constant help of another, unlike himself. He’d been living alone for over a hundred years, and he felt stronger than ever.

Of course, things could get lonely at times, but that was to be expected. He wouldn’t talk to any of the humans—they were disgusting, helpless, and even weaker than his own brethren. But he could handle being alone. Having someone to interact with wasn’t very high on his priority list, and he received enough joy just from having the humans in town under his thumb.

The tales he spun together for them was more than enough to keep him occupied. It was a great source of entertainment, and it keep his food supply balanced.

He knew he would leave town eventually. Sometimes, he wanted nothing more than to just pack up and leave, unable to tolerate the meager lives around him. But that would be for another day—he just needed to find the right reason. It wasn’t like he was in any rush; things could always be worse.

Yes, things could always be worse. The never-ending bustle of townspeople made them easy to manipulate. Go to church on Sunday, spend the whole week working, make sure you don’t sin or they’ll catch you. Sleep, then go back to church.

To his humans, their lives were surrounded by a total mystery. The demons lurking the woods, Satan’s minions, taking those who’ve damned themselves from the world to make it a better place. The devil’s children resided in their woods; at least, that’s what Eddie told them.

When someone went missing, it was because they had committed sin so vile, so unforgivable, that the forest called to them, drawing them closer and closer until they could wrap their claws around their neck and drag them down to be punished. It was almost like a cleansing, albeit harsher. Afterwards, there was one less miserable soul ruining everything for those who chose to live properly.

It was sickening. They _all_ deserved to die.

That was what made Eddie feel as if he were the only thing alive, and he didn’t even have a heartbeat. Everyone around him were ghosts, floating in and out of existence without thought, without feeling, on a separate plain of reality. Every mind acted as one; not a single soul differed from another.

That was why he did what he had to. For those who earned their suffering—he _had to make them clean._

But he could deal with them at a later time. Now, almost half of the town’s population swarmed the chapel, deafening tones ringing in Eddie’s ears. He wished he could plug them; his species had evolved with acute hearing, their senses finely tuned to be able to hear the smallest draw of breath through deafening silence, to find the snap of a twig or listen in on panting, running, a human trying to escape.

“Have you seen the new arrival?”

Eddie’s eyes narrowed in the direction of three women huddled together near the front door. He tuned into their conversation, having found nothing else to entertain himself with. All other noise became dull mumbling in his ears as he listened to them gossip.

“He’s been here for at least a month now; I don’t think he’s left his house yet,” Another piped in, chin tilted upwards. “Maybe he’s not a believer.”

“Maybe he’s one of those _unforgivables,”_ The first woman scoffed, folding her arms over her chest. “Why else would he seclude himself here? He’s worried that if he leaves, they’ll kill him.”

“That doesn’t explain why he moved here; even if he _was_ trying to hide from something, why would he come _here?”_

“Maybe he wants to be forgiven.”

Ah, yes. The newcomer. Eddie had known about their newest edition for quite some time now; as soon as they’d crossed over the town line, the smell of their blood had been so intoxicating that Eddie couldn’t have focused on anything else even if he’d wanted to.

At the time, he couldn’t have been sure if it had simply been a child with their parents, so he hadn’t pursued them. But now, the knowledge that it was only one human, a _grown male,_ was exhilarating. Eddie felt a shiver run down his spine at the thought, and he couldn’t stop himself from licking his lips, tongue flicking over sharpened canines.

Once everyone had gotten their fill of seeing the newborn and catching up on the latest gossip, the building practically emptied itself. As the newly-made parents departed, their guests were quick to follow.

Once the door closed to their very last guest, Eddie let out a short exhale through his nose. His thoughts immediately traveled back to the hot topic of the evening; the strange human. He decided that now would be an appropriate time to seek them out, now that he was sure that there would be no issue in killing them.

He was a bit occupied at the moment, however; he had other things to set up for, and a chapel to clean. Sunday mass was only so many hours away, and it had approached rather quickly; well, faster than it normally did.

And with the dawn of a new day, came the smell.

It started off as a small whiff through his nostrils, passing by just moments later as if it had never been there. But then it began to grow strong, stronger and stronger until it was the only thing Eddie could think about even as he continued reciting and reading as if nothing was bothering him—yet he could still smell it.

Humming lowly, hands clasped, the attention of all was grasped by the sudden creak of the front doors. Everyone turned towards the noise as a small blonde poked his head inside, his eyes wide and startled by all of the stares he was receiving.

Some heads tilted at the sight while others seemed as if they couldn’t care less, turning back around and moving right back into their stream of prayers. The man looked to Eddie next, but he did nothing but stare.

Finally the man stepped inside, closing the door behind him as quietly as he could. Eddie watched the flushed expression of his face with a hint of amusement as he shuffled into the pew closest to the door on his right, standing with the others before glancing around. Eddie continued to watch him with a patience he didn’t normally possess before the man finally closed his eyes, clasping his hands and following the lead of everyone else around him.

Just before he continued the sermon, Eddie inhaled, deeply. That smell—that same exact smell he’d sensed almost a month before, was back. The scent of the human and his blood.

Eddie wanted that blood dripping down his throat, rushing over his taste buds and into his stomach. No, he didn’t want it—he _needed_ it.

_‘You want him. He is pure—free of mark. He is yours.’_

_‘Patience. We must allow time and endure. The sweetness of fruit can only be tasted when ripe.’_

_‘You’ve been waiting too long already. Look at him—he’s beautiful,_ perfect; _he is the one for you.’_

_‘And I said patience.’_

_‘…Indeed.’_

Eddie closed his eyes, continuing on with the rest of mass without another breath. As they drew closer to the end, Eddie gave his usual warning to the townspeople; “Stay free of immorality, stay free of the backwoods, etc.” keeping it vague. Everyone but the newcomer would understand.

And that was exactly how he wanted it. Once the townspeople began to disband he turned his back on them, observing the holy cross he’d carved against the dark wooden wall. He clasped his hands together, closing his eyes.

He knew he was going to hell, but not even the devil himself could stop him from giving his prayers. It almost felt like trying to beg for forgiveness was blasphemous in itself. He’s seen too much to be forgiven now.

“Excuse me, uhm, Father?”

When Eddie turned around, he found himself face-to-face with the newcomer. He raked his eyes over the young man’s body immediately; the first thing he noticed were his soft cheeks, red with embarrassment. His hair was fairly short and blonde, and he wore large, circular glasses with a golden frame.

The scent was incredibly strong now; Eddie could hardly contain himself as he forced out a reply, “I’m Father Edward, yes,” Eddie spoke nonchalantly, holding out his hand. “Welcome to the chapel. You are…?”

“O-oh,” The young man gulped, shaking the offered hand. “I’m… I’m Waylon Park.”

“I understand you’ve just recently moved to our… beloved town,” Well, beloved was certainly a word. Eddie shrugged the thought away. “What brings you here?”

“U-uh, well,” Waylon stuttered, scratching the back of his neck. “I just wanted a fresh start I guess. Uh, I-I’m not a big fan of cities or the suburbs.”

Eddie flashed him a toothy grin. “Well, you’re more than welcome in our community. God accepts all who are willing. Do you consider yourself a man of faith, Waylon?”

Waylon seemed clearly off-put by the question, his cheeks reddening even further. Eddie’s smile faded just that bit before Waylon looked back up, eyes wide. “My p—well, where I grew up, I never practiced.”

At that, Eddie hummed. A non-believer? Or maybe he wished to become one—to be guided. From the sound of it, it didn’t seem Waylon had been given any form of relief growing up, wherever he may have come from.

Maybe it was a place like Leadville. A place full of corruption and heresy, a place where the small human was the only one to keep his purity intact. The only human worthy of His blessing.

Eddie was certain, absolutely certain that Waylon would be a relatively simple case. He reached forward, dragging two fingers under Waylon’s chin as he looked away, forcing him to bring his gaze back to Eddie.

Waylon was as red as a tomato by now, and the scent had become so strong, Eddie almost considered drinking him dry right then and there. But of course, that was something one of his savage brethren would do. He was no savage; Waylon could be saved for another day. For now, he had questions to ask. “Have you been baptized?”

Eddie smoothed his thumb over the underside of Waylon’s jaw just as he pulled away, causing the smaller man to flinch. Eddie fought back a sneer—how _dare_ he have the nerve to flinch away.

But he refrained, his features softening. He could sense the newcomer’s fear; maybe… maybe there was a reason for it. It made Eddie all the more curious to see how this man had become the way he was.

Waylon’s mumbling brought Eddie back from his thoughts. “I-I don’t think so.”

By the tone of his voice alone, Eddie could tell Waylon wanted to leave, and he was feeling generous. It felt so good to have that kind of power over someone after so long—to make someone afraid without having done anything. The townspeople feared the devil, but no one feared Eddie himself; not until he made them suffer.

It felt… exhilarating.

“Well then,” said Eddie, nodding. “You may want to consider it in the near future.”

Eddie watched Waylon take a step back, mumbling a fast, “Thank you, Father.” before booking it down the aisle and out the door.

It left the church feeling relatively empty, on the surface. Eddie let out a long, satisfied sigh before taking a seat in one of the front most pews, relaxing his arms against the back of the polished wood.

This human was one he wanted toy with. One he wanted to unravel and savor. The chances of Waylon’s innocence being defiled anytime soon seemed slim to none; the opportunity to play with his food before eating it felt nice for a change.

The rarity of a human like Waylon appearing in their town made Eddie want to take small, predatory steps towards him before he attacked. He just had to get to know this strange man; what made him the way he was. Why he was different from the rest. And why he came to _Leadville_ of all places.

And why the emptiness inside of him drained away at his presence.

_‘You’re better off killing him instead of getting closer.’_

_‘What did I say about patience?’_

_‘You are acting like a child. You are merely pushing your food around your plate instead of eating it like you should. It cannot talk when it is in your stomach. Keeping this human alive is a mistake.’_

_‘He’s strange. I need to understand him. I’ve never seen a human as clean as this one.’_

_‘He has been damaged; even another human could see that much. He has not been defiled because he was never given the chance, nor did he give himself the chance.’_

_‘Yes, but I would like to know why. Can I not be allowed a moment of pleasure?’_

_‘You may do as you wish, but tread carefully.’_

As helpful as the little voice could be at times, in situations like these Eddie wished he could just turn it off. Waylon couldn’t harm him, physically or mentally. In fact, if anyone would be doing the harming, it would be Eddie himself.

* * *

Waylon sat over his bed, legs dangling off the side as he fiddled with the book in his hands. As much as he would’ve loved to read and go to bed early, his mind wouldn’t stop racing. It hadn’t stopped since he’d gone to Sunday mass just days before.

The chapel was just down the road from his house, and it was clearly a local hotspot, so at the time going in hadn’t seemed like that big of a deal. Just go inside, observe, then leave.

Oh, but the little warning the Father had given at the end of the sermon had done him in. He was still trying to piece together what it meant and figure out if he’d heard correctly, or if he had processed the man’s words wrong.

_“As long as you follow His word, the devil cannot touch you. As long as you look to Him for guidance, you shall be forgiven. As long as you pray, they will not come. Stay free of the backwoods, and it will stay free of you.”_

He was still having trouble interpreting it. What he’d gotten out of the sermon was that something was out there, and as long as you followed the word of God you’d be safe. Was… was he reading that right?

If anything, the vagueness of it left Waylon with a jittery feeling nestled in the pit of his stomach, twisting his insides in the worst way possible and leaving him feeling apprehensive and sick. He couldn’t stop thinking about the Father’s suggestion of baptism either, as if living without it for a day longer might actually kill him.

Maybe it _was_ a good idea to see Father Edward about it after all. The more time Waylon allowed himself to think it over, the worse he felt over having never been much of a believer.

Before, when he’d been living at home, he’d always considered himself agnostic. He just had to keep thinking that there was some power up above watching down on him, but he was never able to put a name on said power.

Now the fear was eating him alive. Waylon didn’t even realize he was moving until he opened the front door of his house, locking it behind him and tossing the keys into the pocket of his sweatpants. He trotted down the steps of his porch, hopping onto the dusty road ahead of him.

As Waylon walked, he wrapped his arms around his middle, only now realizing just how cold it was outside. It would’ve been smart to grab a hoodie or a jacket before departing, but like usual he had acted on impulse, continuing forward while telling himself that he would be at the front doors of the chapel shortly.

It was fairly late in the evening; the sky was already dark and the wind had begun to pick up the closer Waylon got to his destination. It was mid-autumn and it had just rained earlier in the day, so the wet leaves that had begun clinging to his ankles did nothing but make him colder.

Just as the church came into view Waylon raced towards it, rushing up the front steps. He was about to knock when reality hit him like a ton of bricks. Why would somebody be inside the church at eight o’clock at night?

Nonetheless, Waylon looked through a nearby window, finding the inside completely deprived of light. He even tested the pull closest to him, the metal ring jingling in protest as he yanked on it. Locked.

Waylon leaned his forehead against the door, letting out a shaky sigh. Why had he thought it was a good idea to seek out a priest after dark? Unless he needed an exorcism performed, Waylon knew he didn’t have much of a chance of finding him.

With another quick look around, Waylon became all too aware of just how surrounded he was. Not by any person or animal, no. He was surrounded by trees; thick woods lurking with all sorts of creatures he wouldn’t dare think of for the fear of a panic attack.

As he hopped back down the steps, Waylon wrapped his arms around himself once more, deciding it best to just head home and wait until morning to seek the Father out. But once he started walking, he didn’t find himself heading back the way he’d come; instead, he began walking in the opposite direction further down the road where the pavement started to crack and there were no more houses.

He brought his hands to his head, walking faster and faster as the wind picked up around him. It felt as if the air were pushing him down, forcing him to submit even though he continued walking forward.

_‘Oh god, I did it again…’_

_‘What did I do_ wrong…?’

Waylon picked up the pace, his breaths coming in short gasps. Where was he? What was happening? Oh no, oh no oh no oh no…

“Waylon?”

At the sound of his name Waylon whipped around, letting out a short squeak of surprise at the sight of a towering silhouette behind him. It took another moment and a quick adjustment of his glasses to realize that the one standing there was not a demon come to slaughter him, but Father Edward.

“Oh—H-hi? Hello, Father Edward,” said Waylon, shaking from both the cold and the shiver he’d felt at the sight of the other man. “Where uh… where did you come from?”

Father Edward smirked, “I live just a few feet away,” he said, pointing his thumb over his shoulder towards a house residing further back from the road.

Waylon wanted to slap himself for not seeing it earlier. If he hadn’t been so focused on his own frantic thoughts, he might’ve picked up on the house right beside him. It wasn’t like it was that far away from the road, either.

But instead of badgering himself further, he gulped, letting out a nervous laugh. “O-of course. Sorry.”

“For what, darling?” The man chuckled, “I was simply relaxing on the porch when you walked by, and I couldn’t help but notice that you were distressed.”

Waylon blushed, casting his gaze to the ground. He almost wanted to comment on the strange pet-name the Father had called him, but before he could his stomach grumbled, loud.

It was all the more embarrassing when Father Edward let out another short laugh. “Forget to eat dinner, hm?”

“Uhm… yeah,” Waylon sighed, shaking his head. “I… do that.”

At that, Father Edward gestured back towards the house. “Would you like to come inside, then? I’m afraid I’ve already eaten myself, but I could easily reheat the leftovers, and I was just about to make myself a cup of tea.”

Waylon’s head whipped up at the strange offer, quick to raise his hands out in front of him as he replied. “N-no, I couldn’t…”

Suddenly the Father flashed him a grin, and Waylon couldn’t help but find himself lost in it for a moment longer than necessary. Something felt off about his smile—like something was there that shouldn’t be. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, and by the time he tried looking closer, it was already gone.

Before Waylon could complete his refusal, the Father’s grin flattened out into a small smile. “Please. I _insist.”_

It was too much for Waylon to argue against. Moments later they were walking over the porch and through the threshold of Father Edward’s house as if nothing was wrong and Waylon hadn’t just had a minor freak-out in the middle of the road.

Waylon watched the numbers tick by on the microwave nearby as he sat at the small kitchen table. Father Edward had informed him minutes before that he’d be heating up beef stew before rifling through several cabinets, looking for what Waylon assumed was tea-making materials.

Just as the small beep of the microwave sounded throughout the room , Father Edward was there, carefully removing the covered bowl and depositing it in front of Waylon along with a spoon and a napkin. He nodded, gesturing for Waylon to dig in.

“Thank you Father Edward,” Waylon mumbled, picking up his spoon to test the food he’d been given.

Father Edward gave him a small, devilish smile at the hungry look in Waylon’s eyes as he stared down at the stew, “Please, call me Father Eddie instead. ‘Edward’ is such a mouthful,” Father Edward mumbled, trailing off as he went back to attending to their tea.

Yet another shiver surged down Waylon’s spine at his words, but he chose to ignore the feeling and nod at Father Eddie’s request as he began scooping up the warm meal into his spoon.

The room fell into relative silence after that. Waylon switched between eating and watching Father Eddie work, the only noise being that of the tea kettle once it’d started heating up against the stove.

Waylon finished off the last scoop of stew in his bowl, gently nudging it away from himself once he was done. He stared off at Father Eddie’s back for a solid minute and a half before finally working up the courage to say what he’d been wanting to say since he’d wandered out of his house.

“I-I’ve been thinking,” Waylon began, trying his best to raise his timid voice enough for Father Eddie to hear. “T-that maybe I should go through with your suggestion and get baptized a-after all.”

As soon as his words were in the air the Father paused, lowering whatever it was he’d been holding down onto the counter. Waylon was almost worried that he’d upset him somehow, but then Father Eddie let out a short exhale before turning around, a warm smile on his face. He held two small, steaming cups of tea in his hands, and Waylon felt himself relax just that little bit at the sight.

At first, Father Eddie didn’t say anything. He approached the table, placing one of the cups down in front of Waylon before taking a seat across from him, sitting with his own on the table in front of him.

More silence followed. After what felt like an eternity, Father Eddie folded his hands over one another, elbows planted firmly on the table. “What changed your mind?”

Waylon let out a shaky breath, suddenly nervous again. He fidgeted with the tablecloth before him, taking several deep, calming breaths. “Well I… I was worried… what did you mean the other day? ‘The devil cannot touch you’? ‘They will not come’?”

Father Eddie didn’t react initially, instead staring blankly ahead. Slowly, it seemed as though he were thinking Waylon’s question over, head tilting and eyes wandering throughout the room. Waylon shrunk back in his seat, thinking that he’d been too pushy.

He was about to apologize, but Father Eddie beat him to the punch, “They run freely throughout the shadows of our woods, Waylon. Lucifer’s minions, sent here to condemn those of weakened minds. The heretics and the sinners,” he gestured upwards with a quick wave of his hand, followed by a single finger snap. “Gone, to leave us a cleaner, safer society.”

Waylon slid even further down into his chair, gulping.

Father Eddie didn’t stop there, continuing on. “Many of our townspeople have been gone for years on end because of this. Those who He deems unworthy are damned to an eternity of back-breaking labor down below, and taken in the black of night by Lucifer’s children. That is why I preach these warnings; that is why I obey His word so valiantly.”

Waylon was speechless. Just the thought of people having died because of such a small crime felt too overwhelming to handle. Waylon let out a faint whimper, unable to contain the fear building up inside of him.

Suddenly, the man shot forward, taking Waylon’s hands into his own. Waylon felt an intense heat blossom over his cheeks as Father Eddie’s thumbs pressed into his palms. His peculiar eyes gazed into his own so deeply, so intimately, Waylon felt as if he may faint.

Eddie leaned even closer towards him, voice lowered to a faint whisper. “I can see it in your eyes, my darling Waylon. I can see how pure you are; how you’ve lived a life sheltered away from the wrong gaze. As long as you don’t let that purity slip through your fingers, as long as you grasp it and don’t let it go, you will be safe.”

Father Eddie didn’t let go of Waylon’s hands right away, continuing to stare into him with that same piercing gaze as before. As soon as Waylon nodded frantically in acknowledgement, he let go, leaning back into his chair.

The rest of his time in Father Eddie’s home after that was spent sipping tea and sparing the occasional glance at one another. It could be considered almost peaceful, were it not for the strange air from before lingering between them.

As much as Waylon favored silence on most days, he’d love for Father Eddie to say something else to him; anything. He didn’t want to feel alone.

Waylon watched as Father Eddie finished off his cup with one swift gulp, coming to a stand before depositing the dish into the sink behind him. His fingers drummed against the counter impatiently, as if he were mulling something over.

Suddenly Father Eddie turned back around, startling Waylon with the speed of it as he stared him down. “We need to have you baptized as soon as possible then. We’ll do it tomorrow morning at seven.”

Before Waylon could even comprehend what the Father had said, he found himself nodding again, placing his empty cup down onto the table. “O-okay.”

Father Eddie smirked, grabbing the dishes Waylon had left behind. “Good. Please, try to be punctual. I don’t like to be kept waiting.”


	2. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to [SocialDeception](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SocialDeception) for being my beta for this fic.

Eddie paced back and forth within the chapel, glancing at the watch hidden beneath the arm of his cassock every few seconds. He adjusted the collar of his coat before slipping his hands into the pockets of his pants, waiting.

It was only a few minutes to seven. Eddie hadn’t lied when he’d told Waylon that he didn’t like to be kept waiting. If Waylon didn’t show up… _Well._

_Tick._

_Tick._

The rightmost door of the chapel entrance creaked open. Eddie swiveled on his heels, more than delighted to see Waylon poking his head inside in a similar fashion to when he’d interrupted mass the week before. As soon as he spotted Eddie he pushed the door open the rest of the way, moving inside before gently closing it behind him.

Eddie’s eyes flickered over to the font resting nearby before flitting back to Waylon. He folded his hands behind his back, standing tall as Waylon approached.

As he got closer, Eddie took another whiff of Waylon’s delicious scent. It grew stronger and stronger with every passing second and it was _maddening._ He couldn’t wait for the day that he’d decide he was fed up with Waylon and could happily dine on his treat.

But for now he watched Waylon come closer, and when he stepped up onto the upper platform, Eddie held out his hand for him to take. Eddie didn’t say a word; all he did was grin and keep his hand outstretched.

Waylon’s mouth opened and closed. Then, he reached forward, hesitantly placing his hand within Eddie’s.

It was the most wonderful sensation to feel Waylon’s hand tremble against his as he guided him over to the font, slipping his hand free. He gazed along Waylon’s neck and torso, smirking at the way the other man’s skin reddened. He was so easily embarrassed. 

“It’ll be over quick darling, I promise,” said Eddie, gesturing towards the long sleeved shirt and flannel Waylon had put on that morning. “I’ll need you to take off your shirt for me.”

Waylon’s eyes widened at the command, but he didn’t so much as whisper a protest as his fingers grasped at the hem of his shirt. Slowly, he began unbuttoning the fabric piece by piece, but not before turning away from Eddie’s intense gaze.

Eddie didn’t mind; if he really wanted to see Waylon undress, he could always force him to submit. It would be easy with prey like him.

But there was no fun in watching if you didn’t allow them _some_ freedom.

Eddie almost expected Waylon to question him when he’d asked for the removal of his clothes. However he couldn’t say he was surprised at how willing Waylon was to obey orders.

He’d only known Waylon for one evening in his humble abode, but even that was enough time to tell what kind of person he was. One who didn’t stand up to authority. Not directly, at least.

Once the flannel was removed, Waylon made quick work of yanking his undershirt off as well. He folded the items into a sloppy pile, clutching them in his arms as he finally turned back around to face Eddie, blushing like a madman.

Oh, how fun he could be.

“You can leave them on the floor beside you for now,” said Eddie, and Waylon dropped the clothes as if they’d burned him.

Once Waylon had nudged his clothes to the side, Eddie guided him to stand over the baptismal font, his hands coming to grasp at Waylon’s lower arms. “Now you’re going to lean down for me, and I will commence the ceremony.”

He made sure every instruction given was a command and not a request. It was easier to get him to do what he said that way; no hesitation, no second thought.

Waylon did as instructed, leaning down over the crystal clear water. Eddie grinned, stepping around the font.

Eddie was sure that Waylon would make an obedient little slave to anyone that wanted him. So quick to obey orders, so easily startled, embarrassed; who broke him so?

There was no doubt in Eddie’s mind that something must’ve happened to make him this way. No one could be left so unstable without a final push.

That question would be left for a time when he felt inclined to pry. For now, Eddie had a baptism to carry out.

He could barely hear his own voice as he began the private ceremony, cupping holy water in his hands before running his fingers over Waylon’s face, hair, scalp and neck. It wasn’t something he’d normally do with a fully grown human, but Waylon was an exception.

All he could focus on was the sound of Waylon’s heart pumping at a million miles an hour, breaths uneven and erratic as he was cleansed. Eddie made sure to brush his fingers over the back of Waylon’s neck, his scalp, behind his ears; his skin was so soft, so gentle.

So breakable.

For some odd reason, Eddie felt a slight tug at his chest. He didn’t want to remove his hands from Waylon; he felt too perfect. He thought for a moment that he could keep touching this human forever. Or maybe a few hours, because his scent was so intoxicating that Eddie wouldn’t be able to resist the urge to feed for much longer.

Waylon’s hands twitched violently against the font as a few droplets of water slid down the dip of his spine, his whole body shaking like an autumn leaf. Eddie couldn’t stop himself from leaning over and pressing his lips against the back of Waylon’s head, a ghost of a kiss if anything.

If Waylon noticed, he didn’t react when Eddie pulled away, moving his hands to Waylon’s face before lifting his head back up from the basin. He turned him around to look at his flushed features, noting every trickle of water that slid down his soft cheeks and nose. 

Eddie reached for the towel he’d draped over the stone earlier in the morning, reaching up to towel off Waylon’s face. He ran the white fabric over the rivulets coating his skin before moving upwards to dry his hair.

Waylon seemed frozen in time as Eddie rubbed the cloth over his skin, snapping back to reality only when the plush fabric was placed into his own hands.

He looked between Eddie and the towel in confusion. After another few moments of silence Eddie sighed, smoothing out the sleeves of his cassock. “Towel off and put your clothes back on. I told you it would be quick, didn’t I?”

It startled Waylon, because he only responded with was a curt nod, then collected his discarded clothes and began pulling them back on one by one. He’d turned away from Eddie again, exposing the pale skin of his back.

_‘Why must you draw it out? Now is the perfect time to feast.’_

_‘And how is that?’_

_‘No one is around and he is all alone—vulnerable. He smells so good. I know you want it.’_

_‘Patience is a virtue.’_

_‘You’ve been using that word too much for your own good. Don’t tell me you want to keep him around any longer. I won’t have it.’_

_‘The timing must be right. A hunter doesn’t shoot from behind. And I will feed the same way.’_

“T-thank you, Father.”

Eddie was broken from his thoughts through Waylon’s near-silent words; he’d barely heard him, that minx.

“You’ve been freed, Waylon. You have nothing to fear. As long as you listen and learn, He will guide you to your freedom,” said Eddie, allowing himself a small smile.

Waylon shifted on his feet, looking away. Did he want to leave?

“Have you any plans for the rest of the day?” asked Eddie, earning Waylon’s attention back in less than a second.

“N-no, I hadn’t made any plans, um, not yet, at least,” mumbled Waylon, casting his gaze back down to the polished flooring.

“Come with me to the farmer’s market today. The locals hold one every Friday,” Eddie more or less demanded, taking a step towards Waylon.

When Waylon shrunk away, Eddie realized the slight mistake he’d made, softening his features. “It’d be a wonderful opportunity for you to meet the rest of the townspeople. Not to mention, I’m sure you don’t have a lot of food back at your house, what with our run in yesterday night.”

Waylon perked up, looking to Eddie with eyes wide in curious wonder. He idled on the thought for a moment before smiling back. “I’d like that.”

“Excellent,” said Eddie, clasping his hands. “If you’ll step outside for a few minutes, I have a few things I must take care of in here before I leave. I will only be but a moment.”

“Okay,” said Waylon. Eddie was glad Waylon didn’t ask any further questions or put up much of a fight. Waylon nodded, backtracking towards the door. “I’ll just wait out here, then.”

“Of course, darling,” said Eddie, waving Waylon off before he was finally out of the building and the door was closed behind him.

Eddie turned, eyes narrowing in on one particular patch of carpet draped over the magnificent floors of the chapel. Waylon’s scent had starved him, and he knew for a fact that he wouldn’t be able to make it through the heat and the humans that would surround him without feeding first.

So he kneeled down, peeling the cloth back from the floorboards before unlatching the trap door hidden below. He yanked on the knob, leaving it propped open. He descended the steps until he was far enough to close it behind him, making sure to lock it tight.

It was going to be a long day.

* * *

In the heat of the moment, Waylon felt anything but comfortable.

People swarmed around every booth and table of the market carrying large bags filled to the brim with goods. Waylon gulped, suddenly overwhelmed with the fear that every pair of eyes were looking down on him, judging his pathetic state of mind.

Which is exactly why he’d clung to Father Eddie as soon as they’d arrived. The priest was carrying a dark umbrella with him, and any extra shade provided away from the scorching sun was more than welcome.

At first Waylon found it a bit strange when Father Eddie had left the chapel wearing what he was. The same cassock and black jacket as before, now with matching leather gloves and an umbrella hanging over his shoulder.

But Waylon hadn’t felt comfortable asking him any questions then. Not all alone in an isolated building.

“Why did you bring an umbrella?” asked Waylon as they walked, his curiosity having finally got the best of him.

“I burn very easily in the sunlight,” said Father Eddie, not missing a beat. He paused in front of a vegetable farmer’s stand, turning his attention away from Waylon and onto the woman’s baskets full of broccoli and carrots.

Waylon tilted his head. “Why not put on some sunscreen instead?”

Father Eddie scoffed as he paid the woman, snatching several carrots before placing them into a bag. “That vile substance is something I have never placed upon my body, nor will I _ever.”_

As Father Eddie turned away from the stand, Waylon spared one final glance at the woman before jogging to keep pace with Father Eddie’s long strides. He quickly shimmied his way back under the shade again, uncaring of his proximity to the other man.

Waylon knew that if he hadn’t been such a mess, he would’ve bought half of what that woman was selling. He couldn’t work up the courage to talk to any of the vendors, and he’d been spending the entire time at Father Eddie’s side trying to come up with an opening sentence that didn’t sound lame and wouldn’t come out as a stutter.

He felt hopeless. The bag he’d snatched on the way in was still empty, and soon enough he realized just how right Father Eddie had been. He really _didn’t_ know how to feed himself.

As they passed a few more stands, Waylon couldn’t help but find himself staring at a lineup of jellies and jams, all packed neatly into thick glass jars. He hadn’t realized how long he’d actually been staring until he crashed into Father Eddie’s back, burying his face in the back of his coat.

Waylon jumped back in fright, expecting to find Father Eddie staring down at him in anger or rage. But when he finally dared to look up, Father Eddie’s expression was flat as he looked down at Waylon, a single brow piqued in interest.

Before Waylon could voice an apology, Father Eddie nodded towards the jelly stand. “Do you want to buy some?”

Waylon froze, jaw clenching. He wasn’t sure what to do other than nod, breaking out in a cold sweat. “I-I wouldn’t want to trouble them and they probably don’t want to give out samples a-anyway—” he began rambling.

Seconds later he felt one of Father Eddie’s hands against the small of his back. Waylon froze, allowing the other man to guide him closer to the stand. 

“All you have to do is ask,” said Father Eddie, his deep, husky voice boring down into Waylon’s soul and causing him to shudder. Before he knew what was happening, Waylon found himself face-to-face with the jelly vendor.

“U-uh,” stuttered Waylon, unable to catch his breath. He felt one of Father Eddie’s hands against his shoulder, rubbing down his arm. Waylon forced himself to take a deep breath before asking, “C-can I try some raspberry jam, please?”

The man greeted him with an eagerness Waylon hadn’t expected. He pulled a half-empty container out from under the counter, scooping some of the raspberry jam onto a spoon he then held out for Waylon to take.

Waylon was overwhelmed with how kind the man was to offer some of his product freely. He took the spoon almost immediately, keeping it in his mouth as the taste hit him in the best of ways.

He walked away from the stand with two jars full of raspberry jam and one of blueberry jelly. As they continued to walk throughout the market, Waylon began to feel more confident in himself through the silent encouragements of Father Eddie, his bag growing heavier and heavier by the minute.

Father Eddie was scanning over one particular booth full of freshly-chopped fruits, a hand hovering over some platter Waylon couldn’t see. He choose to stand a few feet away in the shade, swinging his bag back and forth as he waited.

Waylon was startled out of his wits as he looked up to find Father Eddie staring down at him while holding a strange fruit in his hand.

“Uh… what’s that?” asked Waylon, taking a step back. The fruit was dark, something he didn’t quite recognize.

“A plum,” said Father Eddie, twiddling the fruit in his fingers. “Have you ever tried one before?

Waylon shook his head, blonde curls coming to rest over his cheeks. Father Eddie maneuvered his umbrella to lean on the countertop before reaching forward, brushing some of Waylon’s untamed locks aside to cup his cheek in his hand. “Try it.”

Waylon parted his lips almost as second nature, taking a decent chunk out of the juicy fruit. Waylon resisted a moan as the flavor rushed over his taste buds. He moved a hand over Father Eddie’s leather glove, chewing before swallowing.

Father Eddie raised the fruit to his lips once more, to which Waylon took another bite. Unfortunately he didn’t close his mouth fast enough as a stream of juice dribbled over his lips and down his chin.

Before he could wipe the mess away, Father Eddie placed the half-eaten plum down onto the edge of the table away from customers and products, using that same hand to smudge the trail of juice away.

Waylon stared into Father Eddie’s ice-cold irises in surprise as the man used his expensive leather gloves to clean him up. The feel of Father Eddie touching him like he was—it was almost too much.

All Waylon could do was stand there dumb-struck when Father Eddie finally pulled his hands away. He didn’t even bother wiping his gloves off on his jacket as he reached back for the plum, sparing Waylon a brief glance before taking a bite into the same portion Waylon had eaten moments before.

Waylon didn’t know why he stared. Didn’t know why he found himself mesmerized by the other man as he ate the rest of the plum. Didn’t know why he blushed as hard as he did. And Father Eddie probably noticed too, if the smile was any indication.

“Well then,” said Father Eddie, picking his umbrella back up before offering Waylon his arm. “We continue.”

The sun had already began setting over the horizon when Waylon decided his bag was filled to the limit. He was feeling better about the townspeople too, but still stuck relatively close to Father Eddie’s side.

They eventually agreed to situate themselves on a bench between a couple of stands, taking a break from all the walking and talking to simply sit back and admire the yellow, red and orange tints of the sky.

Waylon felt a question come to mind. He looked up at Father Eddie. “How long have you been in town, Father?”

Father Eddie acted as though he hadn’t heard the question for a few long moments. Waylon almost repeated himself before Father Eddie finally casted his eyes downwards to meet his own, “For as long as I can remember,” he answered, voice clipped.

“Oh,” said Waylon, suddenly nervous, “What about the… the woods, at night? How long has it been since the first attack?” he asked next, receiving a stony-eyed glare from Father Eddie.

Waylon looked away. He probably shouldn’t have pried; why would a priest want to talk about a force so evil in such a tranquil environment?

But there was still one more unanswered question on his mind. Waylon couldn’t stop himself as he blurted, “Where does the trap door in the chapel go?”

Father Eddie froze, face hardened and his fists clenched through the fabric of his gloves. He seemed, for the first time since Waylon had known him, genuinely, _horrifyingly_ angry.

Waylon had seen the trap door earlier in the day when he’d left the chapel. As he’d paced the dirt road outside, he’d caught a glimpse of Father Eddie hunched over through the stained glass window and had tried to move closer to get a better look. He’d seen him descend into the floor.

Maybe it was hidden for a reason. Waylon suddenly felt so _stupid_ for not realizing it sooner. Maybe some things are just better left unsaid…

“It’s a storage basement where I keep clothing and other devices,” said Father Eddie, startling Waylon with the harshness of his tone.

“O-okay,” stuttered Waylon, letting out a long, nervous exhale. He felt his cheeks flare in embarrassment, suddenly all-too aware of how much he’d pissed Father Eddie off.

“Don’t go digging in places where you don’t belong,” grumbled Father Eddie, shoulders and jaw slackening. “It’s not what He would want of you.”

Waylon slumped over, the air of uneasiness lingering. Was Father Eddie angry with him? Maybe coming along hadn’t been such a good idea. He should’ve known he’d screw everything up…

But when he looked back up at Father Eddie, he found the older man staring back down at him almost _too_ kindly, given the situation. Slowly, the same sharp grin Waylon had seen on him many times before was back at full force.

He didn’t feel so nervous anymore; if anything, he felt relaxed at receiving the smile, a warm and fuzzy feeling creeping through his abdomen.

“I’ll walk you home,” said Father Eddie, standing up from the bench. Waylon stood almost in-time with his movements, their eyes locking onto one another’s.

“Y-you don’t have to, I wouldn’t want to trouble you,” said Waylon, looking down to the dirt in embarrassment.

“I insist,” said Father Eddie, bringing a hand up to hold the back of Waylon’s arm as they started walking towards the arched entrance. “It’s on my way back.”

Waylon tensed as they exited the market, both carrying heavy bags over their shoulders as they walked out of the open fields back into the thick woods of home. The sun was lowering fast, faster than Waylon expected, and suddenly he became _very_ aware of how close it was to nightfall.

He moved closer and closer to Father Eddie’s side the darker it became until he was practically clinging to his arm. Once the darkness overcame them, Waylon couldn’t bring himself to be embarrassed over his current predicament, much less pull away as they neared his house.

Father Eddie didn’t seem to mind. He lowered his umbrella, slipping it into one of the inner pockets of his jacket before wrapping an arm around Waylon, pulling him closer to his chest. It was almost as if he could sense his fear, or something akin.

“You’re safe from them, darling. Nothing in there will harm you now,” Father Eddie whispered into Waylon’s ear as they approached his front porch. But even _his_ words couldn’t stop the shaking in his bones.

Just as Waylon ascended the stairs up to his front door, he felt the gentle tug of Father Eddie’s hand over his own. He turned around, finding the priest grinning up at him before bringing Waylon’s hand to his lips and kissing his knuckles.

Waylon’s blush right then and there was nothing compared to anything he’d ever experienced before. He felt his insides turn to goo at how Father Eddie looked at him after letting his hand drop. He soon bid him farewell before disappearing into the darkness of the night.

As soon as Father Eddie was gone Waylon ran inside, slamming the door behind him. He placed his bag onto the counter, too flushed to try unpacking them as he rushed into his bedroom. He flopped down onto his bed like a dazed schoolgirl that’d talked to her crush for the first time.

He couldn’t think about anything other than Father Eddie. Not the dinner he still had to make, not the food he left for his future self to unpack, not even the jam he was going to enjoy.

All he could think of was Father Eddie, and nothing more.


	3. III

The rain was pouring down in buckets and he had nowhere to go.

Waylon walked without so much as an umbrella, soaked to the bone with his arms wrapped around his middle. Tears streamed down his cheeks, though there was no reason why. Was it the cold? The wet?

He was lost. Waylon had already tried looking around in an attempt to find something familiar, but there wasn’t a single landmark in sight. No people, no houses; only trees and the dark, empty road ahead.

It was paved, but had seen better days. As Waylon pressed forward, the condition only became worse. Eventually the pavement turned to gravel, and soon enough he found himself walking over hard-pressed dirt.

A dense fog had rolled in, circling his ankles, allowing for little visibility and only succeeding in making him colder. It seemed as though it had wrapped around the trees, making the depths of the forest more unknown than it had ever been before.

There weren’t any stars in the sky to light his way. Waylon couldn’t even find the moon; he was truly, painfully alone.

Waylon considered turning around, but he was unsure of where he should go. Home? Home didn’t exist anymore.

Maybe he had to go _home._ Back to the ice baths and freezing showers, back to the bruises on his wrists. Back to the dark, nameless room.

Waylon grew weary, feeling his knees weaken beneath him. He could barely keep himself upright. Finally, Waylon let out a choked sob before collapsing onto the ground, the mud soaking both his clothes and his thoughts.

Why was it so dark? Why was he crying? What did he do _wrong?_

Just thinking had Waylon sobbing harder, his eyes closed and nose runny. The rain began beating down harder; he must’ve done something to deserve this, he was always managed to find a way to screw _everything_ up.

He curled in on himself, covering his ears with his hands while simultaneously shielding his face with his elbows. Waylon sobbed harder; so hard, he barely registered the hard clunk of boots wading through the mud.

Seconds later Waylon felt something sturdy slide up beneath him before he was hefted up off of the ground. He gasped, rubbing his nose before beginning to push locks of hair out of his face.

Waylon couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes just yet; the tears were only now subsiding, and he was waiting for them to cease entirely. As he tried to stare blurry-eyed up at the unknown figure, the first thing Waylon picked up on was black on white.

He brought his hands up to the corner of his eyes, wiping away the tears, rain and mud. Finally, Waylon casted his gaze over the figure, a man. First his eyes landed on a black trench coat, then a clerical suit tucked into black slacks, then bright, glowing eyes.

“F-father…?” said Waylon, his voice a mere whisper.

Father Eddie didn’t acknowledge him. He continued forward, trudging through the rain and mud to bring him… where were they going?

Waylon couldn’t bring himself to ask. Instead he reached up, a hand coming to rest against Father Eddie’s cheek. Initially, the touch of his palm against pale flesh chilled him to the bone. Waylon forced himself to retract his hand as he felt his skin throb from the moment of contact.

He wondered how a body so loving could have skin as cold as ice.

Waylon tried again, brushing his fingers over Father Eddie’s chilling flesh. He moved slowly, allowing himself to get used to the touch before pressing his palm back against Father Eddie’s cheek.

Father Eddie didn’t acknowledge him, continuing forward. Waylon didn’t mind; he leaned further into his chest, sighing contently as he accepted his fate—whatever it may be.

Seconds later Waylon shook himself awake, staring up at the ceiling of his bedroom. He brought his hands up to his eyes, fingertips meeting wetness. Had… had he been crying in his sleep?

Waylon shook his head, letting out a soft groan. He glanced at the digital clock sitting on the nightstand; three-fifteen AM.

It was too early to get up. Too early to do anything. Waylon closed his eyes, trying to will himself back to sleep, but found soon enough that his room was much too cold to do so.

It seemed fate didn’t want to allow him the mercy of sleep. Slowly, Waylon brought himself to a stand beside his bed, scratching his bed-ridden hair before walking over to the nearby closet. He reached for the first hoodie he saw, yanking it off of its hanger before searching for a pair of thicker socks.

Once he was settled in his extra layers, Waylon got back into bed. He pulled his comforter up to his nose, even going so far as to tug an afghan up onto the bed for extra warmth. Still, the same freezing cold penetrated him as if he hadn’t made a single effort.

Suddenly, Waylon felt a desperate need for Father Eddie, his arms wrapped securely around him. At least then, he’d know he wasn’t all alone in the near-freezing chill of late fall.

Waylon scrunched his nose. God, what was he _thinking?_

Father Eddie was a kind man, and his openness towards accepting Waylon into the community had been more than generous. Still, Waylon couldn’t help but let his mind wander towards the stranger characteristics of the man.

Such as how he walked through the market dressed in thick layers. Sure, the day had been a bit chilly, but an umbrella? If he’d wanted to stay warm, why would he want to block the warm rays of the sun?

Then there was that _grin._ Every time Father Eddie grinned, it sent shivers down his spine. It wasn’t that he had a bad smile, no—in fact, he had a very handsome smile. There was just something about it that felt… off. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

And then there was their conversation about the trap door hidden inside of the chapel. Father Eddie’s anger over discussing the subject was alarming; could he be hiding something? Perhaps it wasn’t just a storage space after all?

Waylon didn’t want to dwell on it more than he had to. He decided to stick to Father Eddie’s advice and keep his nose where it belonged. He shifted beneath his sheets, soon after falling back into an uneasy rest.

* * *

“The Lord be with you,” said Eddie, watching as the townspeople bowed their heads. Good. He could just imagine some of their measly prayers; begging for forgiveness, for a second chance. Pathetic.

As the final gestures were made, Eddie mumbled a quick, “Go in peace,” and then everyone began exiting the pews, left satisfied for another week of torturous agony.

Of course, Eddie didn’t pay as much attention to his followers as he normally would. Every now and then his gaze would flicker over to the very back of the room, watching Waylon from his usual seat with a look of absolute hunger.

He couldn’t wait to devour him.

_‘It may soon be the perfect time to feed.’_

_‘Agreed. I can’t control myself for much longer.’_

_‘Have him, then.’_

Thankfully, Eddie didn’t need to catch Waylon on his way out. Instead Waylon remained seated, blissfully ignorant of the last of the churchgoers leaving as he kept his head bowed, eyes closed.

Eddie couldn’t help but smirk at Waylon’s determination, making his way over quietly as so not to disturb him. Before Waylon could open his eyes, Eddie was standing overhead beside him, trying and failing not to take a deep breath of his scent.

It was driving him mad; everything about Waylon made him crazy.

“Feeling well, darling?” asked Eddie, voice level and loud.

Waylon’s eyes shot open, a small yelp escaping his lips as he jumped away from him; at least until he realized who it was. Waylon paused, inhaling sharply before relaxing back into his seat.

“It’s nothing, Father,” mumbled Waylon, looking away as a small but obvious blush crept over his cheeks.

Eddie hummed, taking a seat beside Waylon before turning his gaze forward. His fingers twitched in his lap; he _had_ to feed. Would it be so bad to take Waylon right then and there?

_‘Restrain yourself. You can drink to your heart’s content this evening; invite him over. He won’t refuse an invitation.’_

“He will always be there to guide us,” said Eddie, tilting his head towards Waylon. “You mustn’t give in. It will end soon.”

Waylon nodded, shrugging his shoulders up to his ears. He seemed more closeted that day than usual, but Eddie didn’t care. 

Instead a grin crept up over his features as he scanned Waylon up and down. “How would you like to join me for dinner later this evening?” he asked, careful to keep the invitation short and to the point.

For once Eddie didn’t outright demand Waylon’s appearance. Waylon would say yes either way, but it was for the best he didn’t feel any hesitation in doing so. Eddie preferred for there to be as little resistance as possible, especially when they finished the food and moved onto the more delectable course; dessert.

Waylon stared wide-eyed up at Eddie. He seemed to give it another moment of thought before nodding. “…Okay. But—why?”

“Does there need to be a reason?” asked Eddie, standing up. He brought a hand down to Waylon’s neck, tracing his middle and forefinger over his pulse point. “Seven o’clock sharp. Be there,” he said, eyes piercing.

He could feel Waylon shudder under his touch before giving him another faint nod. And with that Waylon stood, scooting past Eddie before heading straight for the exit. Eddie stared after him through the window, licking his lips.

Eddie was quick to lock up the chapel, finding himself at his own doorstep in mere seconds. He threw the door open in a huff, making sure to slam it back shut before getting to work.

Of course, Waylon wouldn’t arrive for many more hours. Eddie decided to start figuring out what he was going to make, how he could rearrange furniture to benefit him if Waylon tried to escape, and what would take the most time to arrange.

Eddie could barely contain his excitement in wait for Waylon. He almost considered going back to the chapel to feed—at least, until he remembered how good Waylon’s blood would feel against his taste buds, rushing down his throat.

Waylon was almost _too_ pure. Eddie couldn’t help but feel as though he’d mourn the loss when the time came; sweet, sweet virginal blood from a fully-grown human was rare to come by in their town.

He could always leave and seek humans elsewhere, but the control he had over the townspeople’s lives was enough to encourage Eddie to stay. He was a stalker. A hunter. A killer.

There were no creatures of the night. None of Lucifer’s children stalked their woods. The only demon was Eddie himself.

Things would’ve been complicated if his humans disappeared without reason, especially in a town like theirs. Humans couldn’t keep to themselves. They would start seeking answers to questions that were best left unasked.

Eddie wanted to keep his food content without any second thought as to the _who’s_ and _why’s._ The anecdote he’d forged was the perfect way to deceive them.

Fear is the most powerful weapon. Someone’s son hasn’t come home in a few days? He must’ve been taken by the devil. John lusted after Martha? He’ll be gone by nightfall.

The goal was to achieve absolute control. The fear of sin and impurity held them hostage until Eddie found himself in need of a fresh meal. He was a puppeteer, and they were his dolls.

The first time Waylon had heard the horror stories, he’d kept himself locked away from the rest of the world. He didn’t move forward with his endeavors or go out and retain caution like everyone else. Somehow, a switch had been flipped, and he’d been silenced.

Eddie had failed to figure it all out. To understand _why._ He’d allowed himself to get carried away; something he’d never let happen before.

What Eddie now wanted to understand was how Waylon managed to undo him so.

Four o’clock. Five. Six.

The doorbell chimed like the bells from heaven above. Eddie was pleasantly surprised to find that it was only ten of seven; Waylon was early.

Eddie couldn’t complain. The sooner they dined, the sooner he would be able to feel Waylon’s pulse pumping thick red blood into his system and watch his own skin dye red.

Eddie opened the door. Waylon was dressed in a close replica of what he’d worn on the day of his baptism, fit in a baby blue flannel and black jeans.

Eddie greeted him with a smile, allowing Waylon inside without so much as a whisper. Waylon’s eyes scanned the interior of his home as soon as he passed the threshold. Eddie guided him to the same kitchen table he’d occupied all of those weeks before, now pulled out into the center of the room with a rich red tablecloth draped over the polished wood.

“I hope chicken served with potatoes, peas and bread is alright,” said Eddie, placing a small basket down onto the table. “Please, feel free to take one while I finish up with the rest of the meal. It won’t take but a moment.”

“T-thank you,” stuttered Waylon, plucking a piece of bread out of the basket just as he’d been told. He placed it into the plate he’d been provided, tearing a small piece off before popping it into his mouth. “It uh, it smells really good.”

Eddie grinned, moving the rest of the food over onto the center of the table. As soon as it was in place, Eddie took his seat across from him, brows lowered and teeth glimmering like the predator he was. He almost felt them shift into their sharpened form for feeding, but he refrained, if only barely.

Waylon was already as red as a tomato. Eddie was pleased in his success at making him squirm. He gestured towards Waylon’s plate. “Would you like me to serve you?” he asked, the glint in his eyes enough to tell Waylon that his refusal would be dire.

Whether or not he picked up on it, Eddie wasn’t sure. Waylon nodded either way, handing his plate over. “Sure,” he said, voice rising an octave as Eddie’s fingers brushed against his.

Eddie wasn’t sure when it had happened, but eventually they ended up with two plates full of the food Eddie had spent all day cooking. Eddie delighted in the blissful look over Waylon’s face as he stuffed his cheeks full of seasoned mashed potatoes, feeling his shoulders sag.

“It’s… it’s really, _really_ good, Eddie,” said Waylon, giving Eddie a strange, unidentifiable look as he said so.

Eddie piqued a brow, smiling before he began cutting into his own food. “I’m happy you like it, Waylon.”

The rest of their meal continued in relative silence. The air between them was calm and collected throughout as if they were two normal friends having supper. Eddie was genuinely happy to see Waylon loosen up and enjoy his food without straining himself or his delicate nerves. 

The more time that ticked away, the closer they became to Waylon’s death. Eddie didn’t want to cause Waylon any more pain than what was absolutely necessary. He wouldn’t string him up and bleed him out like all of the other whores he kept locked away in the basement. No—he’d be merciful and drink from him until his skin was as white as a ghost. Until there wasn’t any life left in his eyes.

Eddie finished off his plate before Waylon did, forcing himself to be patient and wait as Waylon continued with the rest of his meal. He’d been waiting for hours already, a few more minutes surely wouldn’t kill him…

When Waylon finally caught onto Eddie’s staring, Eddie flashed him another brief grin. Waylon’s face lit up redder than he’d ever seen it before.

“You have…” began Waylon, swallowing the rest of his food. “Y-you have a really nice smile.”

Eddie paused, pressing his lips together. He placed an elbow onto the table, slumping his chin against his palm. “Why would you say such a thing, darling?

Waylon shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable with the question. He elaborated. “W-well what I meant was, y-you have really nice t-teeth. T-they’re… really… I-I don’t know...”

_‘Rip him to shreds.’_

_‘Wait for the right moment. I want to listen.’_

_‘Why? He’s just a human, free for the taking, right here, right now. Do it.’_

“All of the people that were killed by those demons,” said Waylon suddenly, his voice just a bit more confident than before. “Are… are they real?”

Eddie narrowed his eyes, standing from his seat before placing his palms flat against the table. He let out a slow, exaggerated exhale before straightening his back, clasping his hands behind his back.

He took small steps around the table, beginning to approach Waylon all the while staring down at him condescendingly. It was comparable to when a father punished his child for stealing from the cookie jar. “Are _what_ real?”

He walked just out of Waylon’s sight, coming to a stand behind his chair. Waylon was shaking by now, but he didn’t dare look over his shoulder. “T-the demons.”

It took Eddie a few moments to finally decide on an answer. “Yes. They are.”

“…I’m scared,” breathed Waylon, shrinking down into his chair. He still refused to look over his shoulder; to see Eddie towering over him.

“Oh darling,” chuckled Eddie, placing both of his hands over Waylon’s shoulders. He smelled his blood, his heart, his everything as it flowed faster and faster throughout Waylon’s body. “You’re the purest man to ever set foot in this godforsaken town.”

“T-that’s not what I’m scared of.”

Eddie was left confused for only a moment. Then, as realization washed over him, he grinned wider before leaning down to grace his lips against the shell of Waylon’s ear. 

Waylon squeaked, but Eddie chose to ignore it. “What are you afraid of, Waylon?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

Waylon inhaled sharply, “…You,” he breathed before suddenly jumping out of his chair. He pushed himself away from the table, putting a few feet between them.

He shook like a leaf ready to fall; fear shone like daylight in his eyes.

Eddie took a step forward, knocking Waylon’s chair out of the way. “Why are you afraid of me?” he asked, his grin still as wide as ever.

“I-I don’t k-know,” choked Waylon, tripping over a nearby stool.

Eddie traced his steps until Waylon had nowhere else to go, effectively cornering him against the wall. Eddie only had to take two large strides to reach him, placing his hands over Waylon’s cheeks.

Waylon sobbed and gasped as Eddie leaned in further, nose brushing up against Waylon’s neck. He inhaled the smell of Waylon’s lovely blood just beneath his sickly pale skin, groaning at the smell alone.

Waylon continued to shudder and whimper, but otherwise remained as stiff as a board as Eddie brushed his lips over his neck. His rapidly sharpening teeth dragged over Waylon’s pulse point, pushing gently against his skin.

It was in that moment that Eddie felt something painful strike him down. It wasn’t Waylon, no; he didn’t move a muscle. It was something different. Something that wasn’t physical. Something Eddie couldn’t name. All it made him feel was an intense sadness and longing.

Eddie moved one of his hands to Waylon’s neck, pressing his thumb down onto his skin and forcing Waylon to tilt his head back until Eddie heard the back of his head bump against the wall. Eddie closed his eyes, allowing himself to let go.

Waylon gasped as Eddie pressed his lips against the skin of Waylon’s neck just under his chin. His fists were clenched tightly by his sides, eyes fluttering shut as Eddie moved up further, dragging his tongue along Waylon’s jawline.

Eddie had no idea what he was thinking. All he knew what that it was what felt right, _so goddamn right_ as he dragged his thumb over Waylon’s lip before finally forcing them against his own.

Waylon was shuddering hard, but he didn’t pull away from the kiss. In fact, Eddie felt as Waylon pressed closer to him, hands finally unclenching in favor of moving up to Eddie’s shoulders.

Eddie pulled away just far enough to look into Waylon’s eyes. He needed to make sure Waylon wanted it just as much; that he wanted whatever fucked-up dream had forced its way into Eddie’s mind.

Waylon’s eyes were half-lidded, pupils blown wide as he scanned over Eddie’s features. Eddie moved his hands to grasp Waylon’s hips before he shoved him up further against the wall, knocking Waylon’s thighs apart in favor of pressing his knee up in between them.

Waylon moaned softly just as Eddie’s lips closed back over his. Waylon’s breath was unbearably hot, his eyes glossy, hair already disheveled. That was when Eddie came back to, sliding a hand down to Waylon’s thigh.

Before Waylon could even whisper Eddie had gathered him up in his arms, hefting him up bridal-style as they continued to kiss. They only parted for breath once Eddie took him up the stairs and into his bedroom, gently placing Waylon down over the thick sheets.

He climbed over him, both breathing heavily before Eddie leaned down to place a few gentle kisses to the corner of Waylon’s mouth. Eddie’s lips lingered, his fingers gripping the blankets in his tight fists.

Finally, Eddie sighed, pushing himself off of Waylon in favor of falling back onto the bed beside him. They laid there for what felt like hours, breathing labored and Waylon’s heart hammering in his chest.

Still Waylon remained quiet and unmoving besides the heavy rise and fall of his chest. Eddie rolled over onto his side, gripping the blanket closest to him and gathering Waylon up in his arms before tossing it over the both of them.

Waylon relaxed against Eddie’s hold, chest-to-chest as their breath finally settled. Eddie still couldn’t comprehend the turn the night had taken; there he’d been, planning to suck Waylon dry, but was now cuddling up to him instead.

Eddie buried his nose against Waylon’s neck, placing gentle kisses here and there. Waylon sighed as Eddie traced a hand down his middle, playing with the hem of his shirt before finally settling over his waist.

“Stay with me,” said Eddie, tightening his hold over Waylon.

“Yes,” breathed Waylon without hesitation, nestling closer to Eddie’s chest.

Eddie was content enough with his answer. He found himself growing weary, only one thought chanting over and over again in the back of his mind.

_‘What have you done?’_


	4. IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Extreme violence and gore.

It’d been pouring all day.

Waylon glanced up at the ceiling as another bout of thunder boomed and crackled, shaking the whole house. He then looked back down at his laptop, brows furrowed. 

Would it better to turn it off? He vaguely recalled reading an article about lightning and its effects on electronics, but it may have been about outdated electronics…

Sighing, Waylon pressed his index finger down onto the power key, closing the device with a soft ‘click’.

He hadn’t left his home ever since he’d returned from Father Eddie’s house the weekend before. As much as Waylon would’ve loved to blame it on work or unpacking the rest of his belongings, the real culprit was his fear of seeing the Father again.

It seemed that Father Eddie didn’t wish to pursue him, either. Waylon was fine with it; he preferred to be left alone himself, choosing instead to spend time sorting out his feelings without the Father looming over his shoulder.

Waylon could never understand how Father Eddie always got him to do exactly what he wanted when he wanted it. Sometimes Waylon would shock himself with how quick he was to say yes. He didn’t mind doing things with Father Eddie, not at all. But Waylon had lost the ability to say no.

He let out a shuddering sigh, plopping down onto the couch behind him. Another reason he’d decided to tuck in was to distract himself from hard thinking. Waylon reached for the TV remote beside him, flipping through the few channels he’d bought.

Cupcake Wars, Face Off, The Matrix, Spongebob Squarepants, American Horror Story, 7 News, an infomercial about exercise equipment…

After flipping through the same seven channels several times, Waylon settled Spongebob. He’d deserved something relaxing and fun.

“Why thank you, Sandy… I would love one. _Take patty._ Too bad Spongebob isn’t here, these are his favorites. I sure wish he’d come home… Take… bite… I can’t _do it! Spongebob!_ Come _back!”_

As much as Waylon would’ve liked to stay awake longer, he couldn’t stop himself from sinking further into the couch cushions, his eyes fluttering shut. The quiet mumblings of dialogue from the TV screen lulled him to sleep within minutes.

That was when another flash of lightning struck close by, hitting what sounded like a tree. Waylon jolted into an upright position, eyes wide with fear as all of the electric lights in the house sparked before losing power.

It was already late at night, long past the time Waylon would normally go to bed. He felt the darkness closing in on him; Waylon jumped to his feet, breath hitching as he searched for a flashlight.

He stumbled his way into the kitchen, accidentally slamming his side into the counter. Waylon let out a short hiss of pain, holding his side with one hand before kneeling down onto the hardwood flooring. He swung the lower cabinet open, feeling around for his toolkit.

After another minute and a half of searching through the dark, Waylon felt the hard outer casing of his toolbox. Next to it was the flashlight, which he snatched up seconds later.

When Waylon flicked the power switch, nothing happened. “Come on…” he pleaded through clenched teeth. After a few good whacks to the side of the device, it finally flickered to life.

As soon as the light stabilized, Waylon stood. He began flashing it around the kitchen, then the living room. He wanted to make sure nothing had made its way into the house, first. It had almost felt as if someone had been watching him through the dark, but nothing appeared out of the ordinary.

Paranoia. Waylon decided that until the power came on, candles would be a decent substitute until he could take a look at the breaker outside.

So Waylon crouched back down, reaching into the cabinet in search of the emergency candles he’d stowed away along with his toolkit. Most were small in size and enclosed by circular tins, but Waylon also managed to find two larger candle glasses along with the tins.

He lit the big ones first; one on the kitchen counter, and the other on the coffee table in the living room. Once they were lit, Waylon allowed himself a small sigh of relief. The room was much brighter than it had been before; he decided to save the smaller candles for later usage if the power were to fail again in the distant future. 

That was when Waylon spared another glance around the room. The candles were bright, but they only lit so much of the house. The walls remained dim, and the hallway leading to his bed and bathroom remained absorbed in darkness.

Waylon fidgeted, nearly paralyzed by fear. He may have found a light source, but he’d prefer functioning electricity any day.

A small creak of the floorboards down the hall caught Waylon’s attention. He turned the light of his flashlight in the direction of his bedroom, illuminating nothing but wooden floors and paneling.

Waylon choked, heart pumping; was it possible that someone could’ve broke in?

Waylon turned off the light, grabbing three of the smaller, unlit candles off the kitchen counter along with his flip lighter. He made his way down the hall and into his bedroom, leaving the door open behind him momentarily.

The darkness began to consume him once more. Waylon turned his flashlight back on, shining it into every nook and cranny all the way across his bedroom before slamming the door shut.

It was likely that whatever caused the floor to creak was simply due to the age of the building. The chances of it being a person or one of the… _demons…_ was slim to none.

Waylon tried calming himself down, leaning against the wall and closing his eyes. As he breathed, Waylon forced himself to concentrate on the sound of his own breath instead of the overwhelming sense of darkness. He slid down the wall, burying his head in his lap.

After what felt like an eternity, Waylon dared to open his eyes. Daylight shone through the windows, giving him a small sense of security. At least, until he realized that he wasn’t in his own home.

Waylon pushed himself off of the wall, looking around; where was he?

The sound of crying was what first caught his attention. Waylon inhaled sharply; slowly he stood, following the sound out of the room and down the stark-white halls.

Eventually, he found himself almost crashing into an older-looking woman with a child in-tow. She didn’t seem to notice him however, continuing to yank the poor child away from the front door.

The woman looked around the age of fifty with dark brown hair tied back into a tight braid. In her fist was the fragile wrist of a young blonde, her long strides forcing him to trip on his way up the stairs.

The little boy screamed and cried, his tears never-ending as he was yanked painfully up the old wooden steps to the second floor. He couldn’t have been older than five. Waylon trailed close behind, following the woman.

“H-hey!” Waylon called out, but the word caught in his throat. It seemed as if neither the woman or the boy could see him. Instead of turning around, the woman continued forward until they reached the door at the very end of the hall.

“You shouldn’t have borrowed that poor mother’s money,” said the woman, her tone as cold as ice as she opened the door. “You have to say _no.”_

“B-but, t-the ice cream truck…” the boy managed to gasp through tears, bursting into yet another fit of sobs as he was shoved into the room.

Waylon walked over to the door, peeking inside. The room was completely void of light, the opening under the door purposefully jammed.

The boy was shaking, his arms wrapped around his middle. Waylon took careful note of the bruises littering his wrists and arms; he shivered at the sight, following the boy inside as the woman grabbed hold of the doorknob.

“No more ice cream, Waylon. You may come out in one hour, and then it’s another cold shower for you,” the woman hissed, slamming the door shut and locking it behind her.

Just as the darkness settled in, the boy burst into pitiful pleas and sobs, curling into a tight ball before flopping down onto the cold flooring. Waylon couldn’t see him, but he knew the younger version of himself was covered in mucus.

Waylon sat down next to him, pulling his knees up to his chest before wrapping his arms around his legs and burying his head in his lap. He didn’t want to see; didn’t want to think.

When he looked back up, Waylon found himself sitting on the floor of his bedroom. His flashlight must’ve tumbled to the floor during his rest, illuminating the underside of his bed.

Waylon grabbed the light and stood, making sure he still had the candles from earlier in his pocket before placing them on various surfaces around the room. He made sure to keep them away from the bed, first; he didn’t want to light himself on fire throughout the course of the night.

Once Waylon was finished, he tossed his flip lighter onto the bedside table, allowing his exhaustion from the evenings events to consume him. He pulled the comforter and sheets away from his bed before slipping in beneath them, closing his eyes.

Despite how tired Waylon was, he couldn’t fall asleep right away. He just couldn’t shake the feeling that something could be inside of the house with him, lurking in the shadows.

He shivered, trying to force himself to rest. 

When he woke, it was to another loud crack of lightning. Waylon flinched, sitting upright. He looked around the room, squinting.

All three candles had gone out.

Waylon’s breath caught in his throat when he realized he was shrouded in darkness for the second time that night. He reached for the flashlight he’d placed on his nightstand, flicking the power button up and down over and over again with trembling fingers. It wouldn’t turn on.

He felt heart racing in his chest as he smacked the device into his palm. When it still wouldn’t turn on, he went so far as to slam it against the headboard of the bed. Still, nothing.

Waylon could barely breathe, his thoughts racing at a million miles an hour in an attempt to come up with some sort of solution. When he reached for the flip lighter he’d left on his bedside, he found it was no longer there.

Just as Waylon found himself on the brink of a panic-attack, he honed in on a quiet, barely noticeable sound coming from the other end of the hall just outside the door.

_Creak, creak, creak._

The creaks were unmistakable. It almost sounded as if someone was trying to walk over the hardwood floor as quietly as possible to get to him. Waylon couldn’t find a single explanation where he could argue otherwise.

Waylon stood as silently as he was able, reaching for the hoodie he always kept draped over the foot of the bed. He tugged it up and over his head before searching for his phone, the back of his hand meeting the wire charger it’d been plugged into.

Once he had the device in his possession, he hesitated in turning the light on. Stepping carefully over the blankets littering the floor, Waylon leaned against the closed door of his bedroom.

He tried tuning his ears into the sounds coming from the other side of the door. He covered his mouth with one hand, trying to listen and focus.

When Waylon didn’t hear any more creaks, his hand closed around the doorknob. He shivered violently, squeezing his eyes shut as a bead of sweat dripped down his forehead.

In one fluid motion, Waylon threw the door open before running down the hall through the dark night. On his way out, he found that every candle in the house had been extinguished; he hadn’t left any windows open, and the house didn’t have any ceiling fans, either.

That was just what Waylon needed to throw him out front door without looking back, jumping straight off of the front porch and onto the muddy road. He didn’t waste another second; he booked it through the muck and sludge down the road.

Waylon found himself soaked in rainwater almost immediately, but he couldn’t bring himself to care all too much. He broke out in a cold sweat as he continued running, yanking his phone out of the pocket of his hoodie.

When he unlocked the screen, it read two thirty-two in the morning. 

Waylon didn’t give himself the chance to dwell on it. He hit the emergency dialer, nearly stopping in his tracks as soon as he saw the big red ‘x’ across his signal bars and the battery power blinking at meager 3-percent.

“D-dammit,” choked Waylon, shoving his phone back into his pocket before checking his surroundings.

He could see the chapel coming into view just down the road. Waylon didn’t dare look over his shoulder; he ran as fast as he could until he reached the front of the building, stumbling up the steps and out of the rain before peeking through the window.

Despite it being two o’clock in the morning, a whole array of candles had been lit inside. Waylon tested the doorknob, surprised to find it unlocked.

Waylon ducked inside, panting heavily as he closed the door. He kept one hand on the knob, the other pressed up against the window as he checked outside.

Nothing.

Nobody had followed him; at least, it didn’t look like they had. Waylon gasped, collapsing against the door.

He couldn’t relax just yet; Waylon let out a shuddering sigh, instead gathering himself before turning his attention back towards the interior of the chapel. “Father Eddie?!” he cried out, running his hands through his hair.

Nothing but silence followed.

He felt himself quivering as he moved forward, looking around for any sign that the man was inside. All of the candles were lit; that had to be a sign that he was present, right?

 _‘Maybe… maybe he’s in the basement,’_ thought Waylon, locking his eyes onto the now-exposed trap door just a few yards away.

 _‘It wouldn’t hurt to check… would it?’_ Waylon continued thinking to himself as he approached the door, leaning down to peel the carpeting away before grabbing hold of the pull knob.

Waylon sucked in all of the courage he could muster in order to yank it open, revealing nothing but black past the initial opening.

He squinted, trying and failing to see what could possibly lie beneath. Still, he was determined. Waylon grabbed one of the nearby candle holders, swallowing the lump in his throat as he moved the light forward, illuminating the beginning of what looked like a winding staircase.

His brow twitched, lips turned down in a frown.

Waylon felt himself shaking even as he descended the staircase, leaving the trap door open behind him. It seem that the further he descended, the darker it became; eventually, a wet, coppery smell invaded his senses. All Waylon could bring himself to do was scrunch his nostrils, pushing forward.

“Father Eddie…?” Waylon tried again, quieter now as he reached the bottom of the staircase. No sign of light came the very bottom; Waylon only then decided that it probably would’ve been best to wait for the Father upstairs instead of seeking him out.

Waylon made sure to be careful with his footing as he descended the last step, taking in a deep breath before flashing the light up and into the room. What he saw left him reeling back, a startled cry breaking free from his lips.

The room was small, so most of what there was to be seen showed even through the small light of Waylon’s candle. 

There were six, maybe seven people hanging from the ceiling with hooks and chains latched onto the shoulders, backs, necks, arms; anything they could be shoved into. Waylon covered his nose and his mouth at the same time, the candle holder falling uselessly onto the blood-soaked floor.

The person hanging closest to him tilted their head up at the clatter, scaring Waylon half to death. The knowledge that someone in so much pain could be alive was almost too much to bear.

Waylon’s eyes flickered over his arms and legs and the deep, cross-like slices dripping fresh blood into a large bucket beneath him. He gagged, forcing his dinner back down into his stomach.

“Kill m-me… P-please…” the man begged, his voice raw and quiet. His eyes looked as if they would pop out of his skull at any given moment, blood leaking down his cheeks, past his lips.

Waylon jumped back in fright, tripping over the staircase behind him. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to look back at the dying man. Shock overcame him and suddenly, he couldn’t move.

The sound of thick crunching and gurgling brought Waylon’s gaze back to the dying man. Standing beside him was Father Eddie, his mouth embedded deep into the man’s neck.

Waylon choked on his own scream as he watched Father Eddie bare down into the man’s throat, tearing a decent-sized chunk of meat away from his flesh and causing a thick pool of blood to spill over into the bucket and onto the floor.

Father Eddie spit the piece of the man’s neck out of his mouth as soon as soon as he pulled away, his eyes flickering over to Waylon.

The Father looked like something out of a horror movie. His pale blue eyes were now glowing, actually _glowing_ a faint combination of blue and yellow. The lower half of his face was soaked in blood along with the front of his cassock. His teeth seemed no longer human; instead they were bent and twisted, sharpened fangs dripping with rich crimson blood.

Waylon pushed himself back as far as he could until his hip collided with the staircase. Father Eddie approached, bloodied shoes clicking against the cement flooring. He opened his mouth, his tongue licking over his sharpened teeth. He knelt in front of Waylon, tilting his head.

Waylon let out a small shriek as Eddie shot forward, grasping his neck until he was nearly choking, lips leaning in towards his throat. Waylon didn’t move; neither of them did. But all Waylon could hear ringing in his ears was the faint dripping of blood beside him as Eddie opened his mouth. 

One of Father Eddie’s hands found the lower half of his right leg, his fingers tracing over the fabric of Waylon’s pants. Waylon heaved out three breaths before Father Eddie dug his fingers past the fabric and into his skin, a sharpness sinking into his flesh, tearing skin and puncturing muscle.

Before Waylon could scream, Father Eddie shoved his head back until it smacked against one of the steps behind him. Waylon groaned, forcing himself to stay conscious even through the pain and the feeling of warm blood dripped down his leg in what felt like gallons.

It was then that Waylon noticed the dying candle nearby. His eyes followed the small trail of wax to the heavy candleholder lying just a foot away. Waylon gulped, reaching for it as slowly and inconspicuously as he could.

As soon as he felt it in his grip, Waylon clenched his teeth. He let out an agonizing cry as he swung, smashing the candleholder directly over the side Father Eddie’s head.

Despite the weight of all that’d happened pressing down on him, Waylon double-timed it back up the staircase, using his arms to propel himself forward on his injured leg. Moments after he began his ascent, he began to hear the clash and booming of Father Eddie’s footsteps as he thundered after him.

He only looked over his shoulder only once. He’d nearly fallen backwards at the sight, seeing nothing but the glow of Father Eddie’s eyes following him back up the stairs.

Waylon cried out in desperation, slipping against the polished floor as soon as he passed the threshold of the trap door. He tried to barricade it to the best of his ability, closing and turning the knob and locking it behind him.

He knew it would only hold Father Eddie off for so long, but still, Waylon had to try. He ran straight down the aisle and out the door, ignoring the rain just like he had before as he ran further down the road.

Waylon wasn’t entirely sure of where he going; all he knew was that he just had to keep running despite the pain in his leg and figure the rest out later. There wasn’t any time for proper judgement.

He had to _run._

Tears streamed down his cheeks as he pressed forward, running on adrenaline alone to take him as far away from the chapel as he could get. He tried to ignore the warmth flowing down his right calf in favor of survival.

As Waylon met a bend in the road, he finally dared a look over his shoulder. He wheezed, breathing hard as he found Father Eddie nowhere in sight.

Waylon was soaked to the bone, crying and bleeding in the middle of the road and there seemed to be no one who could help him. He turned back around, trying to figure out where the Father might be, or if he’d given up on him.

The sound of heavy footsteps caused Waylon to swivel in fright, his lungs screaming in protest as he stared at the dingy street light he’d passed seconds before. He let out another faint cry, placing his hands on the back of his head.

“Someone, _PLEASE HELP!”_ screamed Waylon, but it was hopeless. There weren’t any more houses past Father Eddie’s, and that was the direction he’d took. In fact, he’d traveled relatively far; he didn’t recognize any of the trees, the streetlight, or anything else around him.

Another sob wracked his body as he turned back towards the streetlight. A silhouette approached, running faster than what seemed humanly possible through the light towards him—Father Eddie.

Waylon nearly tripped over his feet as he started running again, taking a sharp turn into the forest. He didn’t care if he got lost; as long as Father Eddie didn’t find him, he’d be safe.

He felt mud and leaves kick up against his pant legs mixing with blood and more likely than not infecting his wounds as he hopped over roots and bushes. He took several twists and turns, doing anything and everything to try and lose Father Eddie.

Waylon could feel his adrenaline wearing thin. It was only a matter of seconds before he caved, collapsing down onto the mud. His injured ankle scraped against something hard and jagged, tearing into his bloody leg.

Waylon screamed in pain, his tears mingling with the wet dirt as he pulled his leg closer to his chest. He noticed a nearby rock covered in his blood; he looked down to find the skin of his leg had been sliced deeper, rich blood soaking his clothes and coating the entirety of his foot.

The sound of branches breaking, twigs snapping and leaves crunching dragged Waylon’s attention back to the trees surrounding him, “Oh god, _please…”_ he pleaded, holding his ankle tighter, forcing the blood to pool out into the dirt faster.

The booming of the rain and thunder was no match to the agonizing sound of twigs snapping. First to his left, then his right, then all around until Waylon couldn’t even think.

 _“WHAT DO YOU WANT?!”_ he screamed, voice cracking. He could’ve sworn his throat tore from the strain.

“You were the only shimmer of light among a sea of filth,” he barely heard over the sound of downpour. “The only flower willing to bloom.”

 _“Please,_ let me _go…”_ sobbed Waylon, trying once again to find where Father Eddie was hiding. “ _Please…”_

“Oh _darling,”_ Eddie cooed, his voice suddenly too close for comfort. “It was always going to come to this.”

Suddenly a hand grabbed hold of his neck, muffling any and all noise from Waylon as Father Eddie shoved his face down into the mud. He felt one of the Father’s shoes press down onto the small of his back, sending sharp bouts of pain up his spine.

Waylon tried to clench onto something, _anything_ —but it was no use. All he could do was whimper and allow his head to sink further into the mud.

“I can smell your fear as much as your lust,” said Eddie, voice low and husky as he whispered into Waylon’s ear. “I can smell your love for me.”

Eddie moved his leg down to Waylon’s ankle, yanking his hair back just as Waylon let out another blood-curdling scream, “It _hurts…!”_ cried Waylon, shivering as the pressure of Father Eddie’s foot increased with every passing second. “Oh god, oh god, oh god it hurts, it hurts so bad… F-f—Eddie please, _please, don’t…!”_

Waylon felt Eddie’s mouth travel down over his neck, his freakish teeth brushing against wet skin. “My sweet little flower… how dare you do this to me… turn me into a _savage…”_

Waylon squeezed his eyes shut, teeth clenched and fingers gripping the mud and leaves beneath him as Eddie teased over his neck. He sobbed and he cried, but it was no use. Not anymore.

Suddenly, a pain so sharp and so painful burst into the skin of his neck; Waylon couldn’t help but scream as loud and hard as his throat would allow. It cut off relatively fast as his own blood began choking him; he felt his skin tearing, breaking, and he was dropped back down onto the ground only to have a whole chunk of his neck removed. 

And another.

Another.

And it just kept going.

The last thing Waylon saw was his own hand as white as snow and thin as a sheet.

Eddie pulled back, eyes closed and mouth open as fresh blood dripped from his lips. Waylon tasted better than he ever could have imagined; _perfect,_ even.

He continued to ravage his body even after the thought, tearing his skin and muscle, ripping his arteries and veins apart until his neck was close to nothing.

And as Eddie looked down upon the once living body, the little voice in the back of his head chimed in as helpful as ever.

_‘You know what to do.’_

Eddie grinned widely, leaning down over the sizable tears he’d made in Waylon’s face and neck. He pressed his teeth into the wounds, this time not taking, but giving.

He could feel the thick gunk drip from the tips of his teeth, embedding itself into the meat of Waylon’s neck. He sunk his teeth into every available opening, everywhere he’d fed on him.

Once he’d felt he’d given him enough of the substance, Eddie stood, watching as the rain beat down over Waylon’s body. As carefully as he could, he hefted Waylon into his arms, making sure to keep one hand on the back of his head to prevent it from detaching from the rest of his body.

As soon as Eddie walked them back onto the road, he didn’t turn back towards town. Waylon had showed him enough; that there _could_ be more without ever knowing he’d done it. He wouldn’t go back, now.

There was so much Waylon had yet to learn.

Instead, he began walking in the opposite direction from where they’d come. He had no ambitions, no motives; only to let Waylon heal.

Eddie gazed down at Waylon, watching as his skin began regaining some of its color, if only a little; of course, it would never be as lively as it had once been.

Eddie sighed, placing a small kiss to Waylon’s forehead. “We can have a new life, darling. _You_ can. You won’t have to hurt any longer.”

Eddie looked back towards the road, eyes narrowed. He made sure to secure hold over Waylon’s body and head before disappearing into the night, unknowing and uncaring of where he’d go, or where he’d end up.

All he knew was that when he woke up, Waylon would be with him.

He would always be with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to [SocialDeception](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SocialDeception) for being my beta for this fic.
> 
> Here are the links from the beginning:  
> • [ Vampire!Priest!Eddie by wiresonde](http://wiresonde.tumblr.com/post/162344644792/im-out-of-my-head-of-my-heart-and-my-mind-cause/)  
> • [“The Wolf” by SIAMÉS](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lX44CAz-JhU/)
> 
> and now adding:  
> • [“One Who Stalks Below: Extras](http://peachycans.tumblr.com/post/169017059883/one-who-stalks-below-extras-you-may-cry-out-into)


End file.
